10 - translation reviews - translation reviews.… · translation reviews 233 b) ... new york:...

Translation Reviews

Bibhutibhusan Bandyopadhyaya’s Bibhutibhusan Bandyopadhyaya’s Bibhutibhusan Bandyopadhyaya’s Bibhutibhusan Bandyopadhyaya’s AranyakAranyakAranyakAranyak, , , , translated by Rimli Bhattacharya translated by Rimli Bhattacharya translated by Rimli Bhattacharya translated by Rimli Bhattacharya Aranyak of Aranyak of Aranyak of Aranyak of the Forestthe Forestthe Forestthe Forest, Seagull Books Calcutta, 2002., Seagull Books Calcutta, 2002., Seagull Books Calcutta, 2002., Seagull Books Calcutta, 2002.

Chandrani Chowdhury Indian Institute of Technology

Mumbai

In trying to analyze Rimli Bhattacharya’s translation of

Bibhutibhusan Bandyopadhyaya’s novel Aranyak, we first need to

understand the basic tenets of translation particularly in the Indian

context.

a) Chronologically, a translation comes after the original. That is to

say, the original and the translation seldom appear

simultaneously. Bibhutibhusan Bandyopadhyaya’s Aranyak, for

example, appeared as a book in 1939, after being first serialized

in Prabashi between 1937 and 1939. Rimli Bhattacharya’s

translation appeared in the year 2002. In some ways, a

translation is an extended version of the original. The word

‘anuvad’ (‘speaking after’ or ‘following after’) may best be used

in this case. That is, chronologically, a translation can be

produced only after the original has been written. It follows the

original and is thus a speaking after the original. In that sense, a

translation is a looking back, a reconsideration of the original.

Therefore it also becomes a commentary on the original.

Translation Reviews 233

b) To be a commentary, a translation needs to be more explicative.

By nature, translations are more explanatory than the original

had been. What the author of the original may have taken for

granted from his readers, needs to be explained (often with

notes), in a translation. The notes, along with a select glossary

and a translator’s note, in Bhattacharya’s translation, may be

taken as a case in point.

c) A translation is not merely the meeting place for two different

languages. It in fact provides the platform for two different

cultures. Two different groups of readers come together in the

act of enjoying a literary artifact. As Benjamin notes, in the

seminal essay ‘The Task of a Translator’:

…Translation is so far removed from being the sterile

equation of two dead languages that of all literary forms

it is the one charged with the special mission of

watching over the maturing process of the original

language and the birth pangs of its own.

Thus, several cultural concepts, which the readers of the

source language could relate to, need explication for the readers of a

translation.

d) Towards the beginning of his article, Benjamin posits a

fundamental question for any translator: “Is a translation meant

for readers who do not understand the original?” Benjamin does

not explicate his answer in the essay. However, he is of the

opinion that this question and an answer to it would give some

insight into translation.

“This would seem to explain adequately the divergence of

their standings in the realm of art.”

It is almost clear, that the lack of knowledge mentioned in

the above question can be of two types – the lack of

knowledge of the language of an original and the lack of

234 Translation Reviews

knowledge of an original while knowing the language. Is a

translation then meant for bilingual readers? If we say that a

translation is meant for people who do not know the

language of the original; how then can we evaluate a

translation or its ‘fidelity’ to the original?

e) The other word that is used as a synonym for translation in India

is ‘rupantar’. The word means ‘changed in form’ or ‘in changed

form’. Inherent in the very word equivalent for translation in

India, is a claim of deviating from the original. Fidelity to the

original is not an Indian concept. As Sujit Mukherjee notes in

Translation As Discovery:

The notion that even literary translation is a faithful

rendering of the original came to us from the West,

perhaps in the wake of the Bible and the need felt by

Christian missionaries to have it translated into

different Indian languages. We have hesitated until

recent times to translate our own scriptures – who but

another god would presume to translate the word of

god? – and thus managed to confine their knowledge to

the chosen few, who were obliged to learn the original

language. No such choosiness affected the western (i.e.,

the Christian) world for long, and translating the Bible

must be the largest language industry the world has

known… A much greater contribution by Bible

translations to India’s literary culture was that it

brought the printing press to this land, made the printed

word possible, and turned Indian literature into a matter

of books at last.

However, as Sukanta Chaudhuri notes in his Translation

and Understanding, the notion of fidelity has troubled translators

down the ages:


The act of translation has traditionally been seen in a moral

light. Opinion has differed down the ages as to whether the writing

of poetry, or any other kind of ‘original’ text, involves exercising or

imparting some species of moral virtue. But the translation of

existing texts has commonly been viewed in ethically loaded terms:

whatever the moral standing of the original, the translator is

expected to adhere to it in a spirit whose definition is essentially

moral… The classic expression of this syndrome is in the recurrent

appeals to ‘truth’ and ‘fidelity’…

Rimli Bhattacharya’s translation of Bibhutibhusan

Bandyopadhyaya’s Aranyak has clearly passed this test of fidelity.

So far as content and structure is concerned, Bhattacharya strictly

adheres to the Bengali text. In Sujit Mukherjee’s words, the work

belongs to the category of ‘translation as testimony’. In such

categories, there is the least tampering with the original. Rimli

Bhattacharya’s translation, I feel may be placed under this category.

Bibhutibhusan Bandyopadhyaya’s novel is based on the

writer’s experience in Bhagalpur. Though the novel chooses

Satyacharan as the narrator, one can hardly miss the

autobiographical element in Aranyak. The plot or rather the structure

of Aranyak is devoid of any complexity. In fact, the simplicity and

naivete of the people of the forest is also captured in the simple story

line. Initially, the narrator, perhaps the central protagonist,

Satyacharan, finds it difficult to adjust to the life of the forest.

However, as Gostho-babu explains the mystery of the forest and its

mesmerizing power soon takes the better of Satyacharan. The

following conversation between Gostho-babu and Satyacharan

illustrates the process at work:

`Gostho-babu looked at me and gave a little

smile. ‘That is just it, Manager-babu, you will soon find

out… You are newly come from Calcutta, your heart


longs to fly back to the city, and you’re yet young.

Spend some more time here. And then, you will see…’

‘What will I see?’

‘The jungle will get inside of you. By and by, you

won’t be able to bear any kind of disturbance or put up

with crowds. That’s what has happened to me. Just this

last month I had to go to Mungher for a court case, and

all I could worry about was when I’d be able to get

away.’ (Bhattacharya: p 11).

Satyacharan is primarily an intruder. Coming from the more

civilized locale of Calcutta, he is a misfit in the life of the forest.

However, the transformation that Satyacharan’s character undergoes

deserves special mention and occupies a major part of the novel.

This transformation is not a sudden miracle, and Bibhutibhushan’s

subtlety of description is perhaps one of the areas where the

translation lacks. In the original, the only character (if I may so call

it) that looms large is that of the Forest. The Forest is a presence,

which cannot be denied. It is not one of the characters in the novel,

rather it is ‘the’ character before whom all have to bow. This all-

encompassing presence of the forest appears to be absent in

Bhattacharya’s translation. Satyacharan takes on the central stage,

and all incidents appear to revolve around him. On the contrary, in

the original, though apparently Satyacharan may be said to occupy

central stage, he is nothing but a mere spectator. In fact, he plays no

role in the progress of the plot, the Forest is at the helm of affairs.

Like Charles Dickens’ novels where all the characters are

portrayed in such vivid colours that the very utterance of a name

brings along with it a portrait of the character in all its

whimsicalities, Bibhutibhusan was a master of character sketches.

All the characters in the novel have their individual traits and never

is the reader allowed to mistake one character for the other – such is

the power of depiction. Thus, we tend to remember Raju Parey,

Dhaturia, Motuknath Pandit, Manchi, Nakchhedi, Bhanmati and


others as individuals in their own rights. Rimli Bhattacharya’s

attempt in creating the same flavour as that of the original is

commendable. However, for one who has read Bibhutibhusan, there

is something missing in Bhattacharya’s character sketches. ‘In fact,

no reader of a translation who can read the original work should

expect to be wholly satisfied with the translation. But in examining

the relationship between the translation and the original, he may not

only be able to test how ‘true’ the translation is but also explore

areas of literary understanding which the process of translation often

enters, sometimes unwittingly.’(Mukherjee: 1981. p 86). The above

comment may perhaps be taken as true for all translations and it is

equally true in Rimli Bhattacharya’s case. Nevertheless,

Bhattacharya’s translation provides the reader (particularly one who

has not read the original), with all details necessary for

understanding and appreciating Bibhutibhusan’s work. Divided into

seven distinct sections, the translation introduces the Bengali author

to the readers, followed by an introduction that traces the genesis of

the text, the note of the translation clarifies Bhattacharya’s strategy

in the work. This is followed by the actual translation, which is

structured strictly on the original novel – there is no attempt at

transcreation. The ‘glossary of select terms’ elaborates on words

and concepts that only the reader of the original could probably

know. This is followed by an appendix, which gives the

chronological list of Bibhutibhusan’s works.

Certain replications were perhaps not possible in the English

translation. For example, the variation in the dialect spoken by the

dwellers of the forest is markedly different from the way in which

Satyacharan speaks. This is the primary difference marker between

the intruder and the local people. However, Bhattacharya did not

have the scope of replicating the same in English. Moreover, the way

in which Satyacharan addresses the local people, is both an

indication of the difference in status and also the gradual proximity

that the outsider feels with the residents of the forest. However, in


English ‘you’ becomes the ‘great leveller’, and in a way mars the

appeal of the original. Leaving aside such cultural constraints, Rimli

Bhattacharya’s Aranyak: of the forest (the title itself is explicative) is

a faithful rendering of the original. For those who cannot read the

original, Aranyak: of the forest, is a novel in its own right. And also

for those who have read Bibhutibhusan, there is not much cause for

complaint as Rimli Bhattacharya carefully adheres to every minute

detail of the original and arrests the true spirit of the forest. Those

who complain of missing the style of Bibhutibhusan, let us be

reminded, that was never the task of a translator.

References Benjamin, Walter (2000) The Task of the Translator in Lawrence

Venuti (ed) The Translation Studies Reader. London and

New York: Routledge.

Mukherjee, Sujit (1981) Translation as Discovery and Other

Essays New Delhi: Allied Publishers Private Limited.

Chaudhuri, Sukanta (1999) Translation and Understanding New

Delhi: Oxford University Press .

Mukherjee, Sujit (1981) Translation as Discovery and Other

Essays New Delhi: Allied Publishers Private Limited.

Englishing the Vedic AgeEnglishing the Vedic AgeEnglishing the Vedic AgeEnglishing the Vedic Age:::: Awadheshwari,Awadheshwari,Awadheshwari,Awadheshwari, by Shankar Mokashi by Shankar Mokashi by Shankar Mokashi by Shankar Mokashi

Punekar,Punekar,Punekar,Punekar, translated from Kannada by P.P. Giridhartranslated from Kannada by P.P. Giridhartranslated from Kannada by P.P. Giridhartranslated from Kannada by P.P. Giridhar

New Delhi: Sahitya Akademi, 2006New Delhi: Sahitya Akademi, 2006New Delhi: Sahitya Akademi, 2006New Delhi: Sahitya Akademi, 2006

Nikhila H.

Dept. of English

Pondicherry University

Pondicherry

Email: [email protected]

Awadheshwari is a novel whose action is set in the Vedic

period. The novel is divided into two parts: the first part is largely

the story of Purukutsani, the queen of Awadh/Ayodhya; the second

part mainly delineates the clash between Trasadasyu, Purukutsani’s

son and Vrisha Bhatta, a brahmin. The events are set in motion by

the incestuous marriage between Purukutsa, the king of Ayodhya

and his sister Purukutsani. The unfulfilled consummation of their

marriage and Purukutsa’s kidnap by a rival king has left Ayodhya

heirless, though in the novel’s present, Ayodhya is being ably

administered by Purukutsani. On the advice of Sage Devadema, the

spiritual advisor of the Queen, the niyoga ceremony is performed by

Purukutsani with Simhabhatta, a prominent Rigvedin brahmin of her

kingdom, and Trasadasyu, the heir to the throne of Ayodhya is born.

Once Trasadasyu comes of age, his Hamlet-like dilemmas paralyze

him as he wants his mother to unravel the secret surrounding his

birth. As Vrisha and his father, covetous Rigvedin brahmins in his

kingdom, prey upon his mind and belittle him, Trasadasyu is forced

to redeem himself in the eyes of his subjects. How he does that and


how the demons of his mind are laid to rest form the rest of the

novel’s story.

If any translation gives rise to a general anxiety of how a

text from a different linguistic-cultural background will be received

by the target readers, and the translation into English from Indian

languages gives rise to the specific anxiety of how the

‘vernacularism’ of the source-text will appear to the English reader,

one can say that the translation under review will appeal to many

contemporary readers of fiction in English for a number of different

reasons. For one, Awadheshwari gives a new rationale to Vedic

texts, approaching them through epigraphic and hermeneutic frames.

The Vedic hymns are juxtaposed with the Harappa-Mohenjodaro

seals and re-interpreted to tell the story of the bitter conflict between

Trasadasyu and Vrishajana, the king and the brahmin. The hymns

are taken out of their ritualistic contexts and are seen in the modern

form of the personal lyric, as expressions of the anguish and

anxieties of their composers – real historical men, rather than

anonymous entities. The novel marshals modern literary,

archeological and historical modes to take the contemporary reader

‘back to the Vedas’, as the mythical past gets re-constructed on a

modern scientific scaffolding.

The novel also opens with the ‘outrageous’ event of the

incestuous marriage between king Purukutsa and his sister

Purukutsani. The two are said to have a part-Egyptian lineage and

we are told that incestuous marriage was a common Egyptian

practice to maintain purity of blood and patrimony. When we read

Punekar’s introduction to the novel where he discusses the Drift-of-

continents’ theory that different peoples and races came along with

their land-masses and attached themselves to India, one wonders if

geological and geographical-evolutionary theories are being invoked

here to exteriorize the sexual practice of incest, as the plot-line

develops the unfortunate fall-out for Ayodhya of this ‘alien’ kind of

sexual union.


Secondly, Awadheshwari has a powerful female protagonist

in Purukutsani, the queen of Awadh. For contemporary readers

looking for indigenous female models in the Indian past,

Purukutsani’s able and efficient management of her kingdom’s

affairs, and that she is loved by her subjects and respected by her

enemies, make her a worthy ancestor for the present-day ‘Indian-

woman-achiever’. As a wise and compassionate queen who sets

aside her personal troubles and responds to the greater duty towards

her subjects, she is quite like the representation of the modern

successful woman whose public persona hides private scars. She is

also strongly committed to perpetuating her natal family’s name and

line: refusing to marry the neighboring king, she instead prefers

niyoga to keep Ayodhya a distinct political entity in the control of

her natal family. From being tomboyish in childhood, then taking up

the reins of the state, to taking upon herself the task of perpetuating

the natal patriliny, Purukutsani offers a model of femininity shaped

not for ‘gifting away’ in marriage (given that her marriage is within

the family), but is deployed by the natal family-kingdom to stabilize

itself as an autonomous unit. Is this any less a patriarchally-shaped

femininity? What would a system where the woman perpetuates the

line of the natal family do to the institutions of family, private

property and society itself? – these are provocative questions that

arise in the context of the novel under review.

Thirdly, for English readers whose tastes are molded by

political thrillers, Awadheshwari has the complexity and suspense to

keep readers interested in the political intrigues of the Vedic period.

The twists and turns in the plot of the novel and its panoramic scope

should interest any television serial producer looking for alternatives

to the family drama genre.

That Awadheshwari won for Prof. Punekar the Sahitya

Akademi award in 1988 and that contemporary critics find in

Punekar’s writing a criticism of the European and Anglo-American

modernity and appreciation of the “inner resilience and naiveté of


regional cultures”,1 make Awadheshwari a prospective text in the

English syllabi of universities in India that want to ‘decolonize’

themselves and those abroad that are looking for such instances of

‘Postcolonial Literature’.

While Awadheshwari in English will find an interested

readership, it may not be a very well-informed readership in the

sense that, at the end of reading the novel, they may know little

about the Kannada context that gave rise to and received the novel.

While the task of translating the novel is undoubtedly a challenging

one, the English reader also has to be informed about the source-

text’s place in its linguistic-cultural context. What is interesting

about a translated text is its life in two cultural contexts and readers

in one cultural context must be allowed glimpses of how it inhabits

another context. An Introduction that contextualized the source-text

and introduced the author’s oeuvre to the English readers would

have made the translation more comprehensive.

While overall the translation reads well, some wordiness

could have been avoided such as “with an humble prostration of her

body” (p.12) and “one should step out to strike out along the lines of

possibilities or impossibilities that the future holds” (p.60). In some

places, pronoun references are ambiguous, and going by the story-

line, in one place ‘Vatsaraja’ has become ‘Kalia’ (p. 73) and

‘Tuesday’ has become ‘Thursday’ (p.62). A misplaced footnote on

p. 399 instead of on p. 397 is among the errors that need to be taken

care of in the forthcoming editions.

Overall Awadheshwari compels the attention of present-day

scholars and readers of fiction in English.

Note: This is what Rajendra Chenni wrote about S.M. Punekar in

his article titled “Enfant terrible of Kannada Literature” that

appeared in Deccan Herald when S.M. Punekar died.

Translating ModelsTranslating ModelsTranslating ModelsTranslating Models: A review of : A review of : A review of : A review of Awadheshwari by Shankar Mokashi Awadheshwari by Shankar Mokashi Awadheshwari by Shankar Mokashi Awadheshwari by Shankar Mokashi Punekar. Trans. P P Giridhar. 2006. Punekar. Trans. P P Giridhar. 2006. Punekar. Trans. P P Giridhar. 2006. Punekar. Trans. P P Giridhar. 2006.

Bangalore: Sahitya Akademi. Bangalore: Sahitya Akademi. Bangalore: Sahitya Akademi. Bangalore: Sahitya Akademi. 444400008pages.8pages.8pages.8pages.

Sushumna K Centre for the Study of Cultures and Societies,

Bangalore.

In times when tradition and modernity persist as crucial

issues in all of our scholarship in literature as well as the social

sciences, the translation of Shankar Mokashi Punekar’s

Awadheshwari, by P P Giridhar is an apt venture. The novel is a

creative take on the political life in Vedic times. Written in 1987, the

novel won itself a Sahitya Akademi Award. For all of us now, such a

novel and its translation into English rake up a series of questions.

How can one reconstruct the Vedic times? What are resources

available to do so to creative writers? How does a reconstruction of

the Vedic times in the 1980s look like, would it look any different or

similar now? How would a translation of Vedic times, so to say, into

English look like?

Does the translation of Vedic times involve a translation of

concepts of the life-world of a certain time-space or does it demand

a reconfiguring of language or even meet with dead-ends and

involves in struggles against prevalent idioms of the present? In

what sense exactly were the Vedic times different from ours? Is it

only the case that sometimes translations into English end up merely

sounding anachronistic or western-Christian or do they even distort

meanings. Is it possible that to a native audience even these

anachronistic-sounding renderings make meaning only in a context-


specific sense? Further then, can practices/rituals be understood as

concepts? Surely, these are interesting questions spanning various

fields of inquiry; I will speculatively answer some of them

summarily in this review article, by taking up the novel first and

issues of translation next.

A novel?: Awadheshwari is a peculiar novel, (to retain the term), not

just for its brave attempt to creatively reconstruct the vedic times, it

is so for other reasons as well. For instance, in the foreword, the

author goes into researches current in his time and into scriptures

and seals and tells us about a unified theory of oriental paleography.

Our current understanding however, (of seeking out scriptures or

judging practices like incest, both inventions of 19th century

anthropology), is that it is a result of British colonization and that

prior to colonization we related differently to ‘scriptures’ and that

our life-worlds were composed differently. Although Punekar in his

other writings was sensitive to issues of colonization and writing, it

is often less known as to what exactly we mean by colonization or

even modernity, all we can say is that he felt the unease that many of

us still struggle with. Then again the author also puts forward the

thesis that “they are like us”. He also exemplifies literature over

ritual, “…To give it a sacrificial-spiritual interpretative, because it is

a Rigvedic hymn is to do disservice to his poetic prowess”. A sort

of paradox emerges between the author’s claims and what the novel

actually accomplishes. While for the author then, our pasts can be

rewritten or opted out of and life can be led on ideological or belief-

based stances, the novel presents us with more complex instances.

This raises a set of unanswered questions about colonization,

modernity, passage of time etc or even anachronisms and other

debates in historiography. In the limited space of this article I will

show that these anachronisms reveal more about our issues and

terms of contention and that the issues may themselves demand

different treatment.


In form: Surely then, if I were to read the novel and not the author’s

promises, then we are confronted with peculiar things. A series of

unrelated plots, lengthy sub-plots: the sheer number of it almost

blinding us to the need or aesthetics of it. On the whole, the large

number of plots cannot be missed by any reader at all. This leads us

to ask, if then Awadheshwari is a novel at all. The numerous

unrelated plots should perhaps be understood in terms of the story-

telling traditions in our contexts. Typically, Awadheshwari is like a

record of a set of instances. It does not seek to provide experience;

fewer stream of consciousness techniques, abrupt shifts from

reflections of characters to the development of plot (which can

participate in theoretical endevours) and such like mark the novel

from time to time. One can see Awadheshwari as working through

models (of set of instances) that are set in the form that then relates

to us a different life-world. One can read the content of

Awadheshwari as a particular understanding of the Vedic time-

space, that strangely or perhaps not so strangely after all, offers us

story-structures or models that take off from the main plot, never to

return or contribute otherwise. Stories than, one could say have more

ambiguous roles to play than novels or other forms, particularly in

our contexts. A story could aim to merely relate or keep alive

curiosity or retain a world, unlike a novel. And throughout

Awadheshwari the reader meets with such stories. One could see the

effort of the author to capture difference, showing in the form of

Awadheshwari more than in say, it’s content, although the content

offers to us equally different stuff. This poses to us a unique task,

that of translating models, which I will take up in a moment. To see

Awadheshwari as a record is even interesting in times where the

dharmashastras are understood less as laws or codes and more as

records. The lack of the form of the novel in our contexts can be

drawn upon here to form interesting hypotheses.


In Content: The content of this novel is fraught with characters, but

these are no characters from a typical 19th century novel! They are

characters because they are reflective actors and because action can

be typified at least in some general ways. The characters’ attitude to

action on the whole, the attitude of engagement and negotiation with

existing practices and the unabashed pragmatism that is placed

within a discourse of right action, contemplative/reflective life

cannot be missed at all. With content fashioned in such a way, it is

noteworthy that one cannot be proposing that the Vedic times were a

degenerate or barbaric time. Thus the novel provides by default and

this perhaps has to do with the form, a glimpse into a way of life that

we can perhaps with due respect understand as our traditions or

inheritances. Read like this the novel does not make us see

colonialism as just another cultural encounter that occurred naturally

in course of time, but the novel stands for something that can record

tradition and show to us the ruptures that colonization set forth.

Translating Models?: The issues regarding the translation of such a novel then

involve awareness of the story form and the models presented

therein. However, very interesting questions arise here. Is translation

only a task of translating the concepts? Can practices be translated or

recreated as concepts? Are there practices that do not lend

themselves to conceptualization and translation? And do they remain

as practices only because they manage to remain outside of

conceptualization? The awareness of the translator in such a case I

think is shifted from providing an experience that is nearer or

faithful to the original but in preserving the model that the original

presents. Thus one has to translate models more than attempting to

provide experiences or specific meanings. Here then, with the novel

Awadheshwari, we are confronted with a case where language

cannot be seen as representing culture in any direct manner. So then,

the translator must be cautious not to be ideologically inclined and


must translate the meaning of the path or model if at all (because

specific meanings are only part of a given path or model). So that, a

model preserved and passed on, and numerous experiences within it

can become possible. In times when endless ideological translations

prevail upon us, even heaped upon us constantly, Giridhar’s

translation is more relevant. For instance, his “asked himself

wordlessly” and similar phrases point to a particular from of

reflection, specific perhaps to our times and contexts alone, the

composition of which we can reflect upon. That Giridhar believes

that one can be indifferent to ideological positions in the act of

translation perhaps best suites the translation of stories in the Indian

tradition.

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